


Enough

by Chromi



Series: Deuce-centric [12]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Devotion, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Short & Sweet, Switching, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: He’s like the finest of wines, Deuce thinks. Intoxicating; brilliant; dizzying. He’s addicted, and he’s thrilled by it.He can’t stop.It isn't enough.
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Deuce-centric [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576678
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	Enough

He doesn’t know how badly he needs this today until he has it wrapped up in his arms.

His word reduces to audio and touch alone, sight foregone at the behest of the total black of night.

Heavy breaths pant to sweat-slicked skin; muscles tremble under his touch, his own matching Ace’s.

It isn’t enough. He can’t get close enough – no matter how he claws and kisses, sucks and touches fingertips to heated flesh – he can’t get _close enough_. He feels like he needs to be part of him, get under his skin, nestle in his heart, and blot out the rest of the world.

Deuce _needs_ Ace. There is no room for _want_ anymore – _want_ is something that ties in with lust, with feelings that don’t connect to the taste of loving someone to their most fundamental of basics.

A mouth to his throat; a groan pulled from his depths. Fingers curl tight into his hair, tugging his head back to expose, to call for his total abandonment of agency for seconds. Make himself Ace’s – submit to the pull and draw of canines to jugular, placing his life on the fine line of his lover’s whims for as long as Ace sees fit.

He can’t stop touching Ace wherever his hands fall. Every single inch of him calls for Deuce to lavish affection to it, to claim it with his honesty.

Knees bend, raising heels into the air, thighs flattening to muscular abdomen. A sigh – soft, wanton, aching – and Ace chases it down, tongue laving to lips that part and accept.

He’s like the finest of wines, Deuce thinks. Intoxicating; brilliant; dizzying. He’s addicted, and he’s thrilled by it.

 _He_ _can’t stop_.

He’s on top when roughly pulled into position – lining up to Ace’s body, sliding in thick and wet to that tight channel. Ace accepts him, opens under him, lifts into the sensation of claim and shivers under his fingers finding stiff pink nipples. Teeth follow, bending Ace at the waist, tasting salt at the left bud and rolling it along the flat of his tongue.

Ace _sobs_ his name; fists his hair; drags him up to mesh lips to lips to tongue to teeth.

Deuce barely notices how he’s crying with the intensity of Ace’s heat sucking him in. _Desire_ doesn’t do his heart justice; _love_ doesn’t encompass the raw surge of his blood rushing his veins, arteries, capillaries dilating into a hot, messy blush.

 _It isn’t enough_.

It can never be enough. He can never get close enough – but this will _have to_ _be_ enough for him.

When nails drag down his chest, pain prickling in their wake, he throws back his head and gasps, levering his weight back on his knees.

Away.

Away from where Ace writhes back into the sheets, moaning for him, moaning for _them_ , shaking and breathless in anticipation of his oncoming orgasm.

A kiss to Ace’s shin; fingers fumbling for Ace's dick, finding it sodden and tight to his abdomen.

He’s so close himself he can’t bear it much longer. He hunches down again, folding Ace at the waist once more, stroking hair, stroking cock, kissing him, knowing him.

He can’t let go. Deuce presses messy, fevered kisses to Ace’s neck as he spills inside him, body shocked senseless by his orgasm. Yet he keeps going, keeps rolling his hips, hand relentless, panted breath coming hot and sharp against Ace’s cheek, Ace’s lips, as he fucks himself into over-sensitivity in his search for Ace’s end.

Deuce achieves it right at the cusp of it all being too _much_ , sends Ace into spasm underneath him to clutch at hair, to scratch at his neck, to gasp uncontrollably to tear-soaked cheeks.

A moment of silence – a shared word of love. A towel, dampened, cleans Ace’s body, wipes dry Deuce’s unmasked cheeks, his chest, his back.

And they begin again; insatiable, starving, needy.

Deuce is eternally at Ace’s beck and call; he will, without question, follow his captain’s lead.

When Ace guides him into his lap, he straddles him.

When Ace sighs for Deuce to wrap his legs around his waist, Deuce complies.

When he is lifted, Deuce holds; he braces; he arches away from the wall his back collides with; he relaxes for Ace pressing inside.

Tears spill again. Deuce can’t help it – can _never_ help it, not when it comes to Ace. He refuses to try anymore. He refuses to do anything but feel.

Pain rips through him – not from Ace’s slick, fast slide into him, but with how his scream of Ace's name tears at his throat. He’s used to it; he welcomes it, the chance to taste Ace kissing him better, sucking marks to his neck and jawline. Little words of love punctuate the air, blister where Ace’s heat burns direct to his skin, reducing him down to clawing at Whitebeard’s mark and pulling at Ace’s hair.

He’s ravenous; he’s famished. He can’t take it all in, all of Ace, all of his adoration and sweet, sweet sugar-coated flavor.

His head hits the wall on his spine bowing deep, nerves alight with the rush of release, shouting Ace’s name to the ceiling, to the heavens, for any and all to hear him because he doesn’t _care_. He will never care for their opinions on his torment. It’s Ace, and it's nothing. It’s all, all, _all,_ and an endless void beyond that.

Deuce refuses to let it end here.

They can barely walk; they can hardly stand as they steal away to the showers, hand in hand, stark naked and giggling. Daring, stupid, and heedless.

A glance back over his shoulder; a grin that is reflected in Ace’s face, eyes squeezed shut for how fully he smiles.

Deuce loves him.

Deuce loves him even more when Ace collapses in a heap, legs having given way, muscles fucked useless. They laugh wildly, stumbling in the dark – Deuce is grabbed by the neck for support and finds himself on the floor too, head knocking to the wall once more, laughing so hard he cries yet again.

He never can seem to stop crying these days – he wonders whether he will ever be capable of containing his emotions for Ace, or if they are doomed to spill from him forever. It isn't something that he ever finds himself caring about, one way or the other.

The bathroom door slams; there is shampoo rubbed into his hair, foaming and citrus, before he can do little more than get under the steaming water. Fingers, deft, wind and twist, spread to his neck, his back, his chest to paw at pectorals.

He reciprocates, cleaning Ace, brushing his hair back off his forehead when rinsing the suds away. Ace is so _beautiful_ , trembling with barely suppressed happiness, cheeks pink, freckles dark, smile wide.

Deuce drops to his knees.

Pulls Ace in by the hips.

Tongues to the underside of his half-erect cock, cupping his balls to roll and massage.

Ace gets the message.

He tastes of the lemon shampoo that Deuce had lathered him in – there is only the hint of regret that Ace doesn’t taste of himself as Deuce takes him to the root, swallowing around him, working to suppress his gag reflex.

It still isn’t enough. _When_ will it be enough? What more is there of Ace that he can touch, can have, can hold, can learn? He has his body, mind, heart, and soul – so when will this hunger be sated?

A moan vibrates around Ace’s cock as Deuce's hair is grabbed at, pulled, and wrapped around warm fingers.

He swallows on Ace’s release, fingers sliding back, _back_ , to touch and stroke along Ace’s rim. The sounds Ace makes are heavenly, a symphony he knows by heart.

Ace follows him to the floor. Lines himself up. Lifts; braces to the wet wall; settles.

His forehead hits Ace’s chest and he is _gone_ , gasping his love, his dedication, his life. He pledges, holding Ace to him, that he belongs to his captain.

Again.

_Again._

Deuce bites down, drowns breathless in Ace’s moan, in Ace’s flavor.

Maybe they lost their senses somewhere along the way. Maybe they _shouldn’t_ be like this, tangled on the shower floor, hips slapping wet to lap, nails digging blunt to soaked skin and teeth bared to kiss and lick, suck and claim.

He’s obsessed; he’s possessed by Ace’s beauty.

And Deuce is at peace with this.

He finds himself braced at the floor length mirror in the dressing room next door minutes later, watching his own face as Ace leans over him, fucking him just _right_ to get him rising to his tiptoes, crying out for _more_. Deuce watches, drugged by his own adrenaline, feverish from Ace’s heat, as he falls apart.

Never before has he seen himself come apart like this; it's intimate – intrusive, even – to think that _this_ expression, _this_ shattering of facades and disguises is what Ace sees daily. It's nauseating; it’s gratifying.

Deuce comes against the mirror looking not into Ace’s stormy gray, but his own tearful gold.

Ace tells him he’s gorgeous… and Deuce finally sees what he means.

He’s glad he no longer needs the mask around Ace.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to fill [my Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) inbox with prompts, nonsense, or anything at all! I love to chat TT
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


End file.
